


The Waters And The Wild

by Ori_Cat



Category: Chronicles of Ancient Darkness - Michelle Paver
Genre: Children In Danger, Drowning, Gen, POV Second Person, Reposted following reviewal, the Fair Folk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ori_Cat/pseuds/Ori_Cat
Summary: Partly a character study, and partly a poem about fairies. Who Narrander was, before.





	The Waters And The Wild

Here is a memory: you are young, young enough to still be clumsy because you are still growing into your body, and there are people dancing in the woods. 

_Who are they,_ you ask, pulling on your mother’s hand. _Who are they?_

_Who are who,_ she asks. 

_The people,_ you say. You point. _Over there._

_There are no people,_ she says. 

_Yes there are,_ you insist. _Dancing, right there! Can’t you see them?_

She just shakes her head. _Narrander. There is no one there._

* * *

Here is another: you are older now, but not by much, and someone is singing in the night, and- 

Even years later, you will not be able to describe it. It is the most beautiful singing you have ever heard, and you want nothing but to find the singer and stay, at their side, at their feet, and listen forever and ever. 

You have nearly left the shelter when your mother grabs your arm. _Where are you going?_ she asks. 

You know she won’t let you go, she loves you too much to allow you to run off after the music and never return to her, and you hate this, because you must, you feel you will die if you don’t - 

So you scream ( _enough to wake the dead,_ she curses), and you fight, pull away, hard enough to bruise your wrists where she holds you - you can’t get free, of course, you are a child and she is a grown woman, and so the song fades and is lost while you are still trapped there in the dark and warmth of the shelter. 

* * *

When you are fifteen, you drown. 

The first mistake you make is deciding to swim alone. The second is diving beneath the log jam up against the shore, because there are some very interesting-looking weeds under there, and you want to have a closer look (you cannot just pull them up into the brightness to wilt and die, that is not good enough, so you must go down into the water instead.) 

The third mistake was forgetting which direction was out, and air, leaving you scrabbling helplessly against the slimy bark the lake has preserved and mats of pine needles caught in the eddies that the cracks between the logs form. Water fills your ears, your nose, your mouth, and no, you don’t want to die, not like this- 

And the world tears beneath you, and suddenly you can breathe again. And the world - when you fill your lungs again and force yourself to your feet in water that reaches to your knees - is entirely mist, where before there had been sunlight, and the dark shadows of trees loom through it. 

There are also - you do not have a word for what they are, but people, though the nearest one that comes to mind, definitely doesn’t fit. They are too small and pale and sharp-toothed and bright-eyed. 

(Don’t go too close to the water, they - the humans, that is - say. Don’t climb down into the cave, lest the fairies steal you away.) 

_And who are you,_ the fairies ask. _And what is your name, human boy?_

(You know it has been said. But you’re not entirely sure the words passed your ears before you heard them.) 

You must answer. Both because there are a thousand thousand stories that say they are dangerous, capricious, that they must be pacified, but also because this is the voice of the song, beautiful and compelling and powerful. 

_And you are the one who is to become the mage?_

(But they say that, if you are very brave and very strong and very clever, you can have dealings with them and come away alive.) 

So you answer, _Yes._

_You are ours now,_ the fairies say, as they move to surround you and the cold water leeches the feeling from your legs and hands. _You will be our hands, our mouthpiece to the humans. You will mark out the places that we claim, and you will keep the humans to their own. You belong to us and you will forever and you may not ever forget._

(Then again, they say that the fairies will always have their price from you, and it may not be something you can afford to lose. Maybe they will steal seven years of your life. Maybe they will pluck your eyes from your head, and send you back blind; your voice, and mute. They say the fairies will take the heart from your chest, or your firstborn child, or whatever else they decide to demand. And they say you can never be sure when they will come to collect on your promise.) 

Humans aren’t supposed to demand things of the fairies, that is not the way it goes, but _and what will you give me in return?_ you ask. 

Amusement. A ripple of laughter, like a stream falling over stones. Endearment? 

_We will give you darkness, and air. We will give you stone and river and the secret places beneath the earth. We will give you glamour._

_We will give you the dance, and the song._

You accept. Of course you accept. What else can you do? 

* * *

And they give. You forbid the island, and you leave the offerings - rowan and fishes’ bones and soapstone beads - and in return you may enter and leave both worlds as you wish, as a frog can enter both water and air, and you stumble home with lips and hands and bare feet bleeding from the power you have tried to hold (like carrying a storm within your arms) - 

But eventually, slowly, the world bends to you. You can tear the membrane of the worlds and step between them at will. You can mend earth that has been torn up and break stone that once was whole. You can hide yourself so deeply that no-one could ever find you, though they search for years and years. 

You breathe water now, as much as you breathe air. 

* * *

When your doom comes, it does not slip up slowly behind you, to creep in through the back ways and catch you at unawares. 

No, your doom comes sauntering up to your door with swinging braids and bright eyes and a laugh and a _proposition_ for you. And you say _Hello, Hati_ and you welcome it in. 

You speak about your family and your various acquaintances and the weather, always the weather, and Hati speaks about his people and his friends, a lot about his friends, you would like them, really you would - 

So when Hati says _Well? Will you join me?_ \- 

(They say that once you have eaten the food of the fairies, you will hunger ever after. You will never be satisfied again) - 

You say yes. Of course you say yes. What else can you do? 

* * *

It ends in weeping, because the world is full of that and it was folly to think it would never find you. It ends in tears and ash and screaming (you think it might be you, screaming, but you aren’t entirely sure) and - 

\- and - 

(In this, your mother was wrong. You can scream until your throat is raw and your voice breaks and leaves you mute - 

but the dead won’t wake.) 

* * *

(They say the fairies will always take something from you - the eyes from your head, the heart from your chest, the child from your arms. 

This is a lie. 

It is the humans that do that.)


End file.
